


Aurata

by ImperialMint



Series: sun kicks the moon off the mountain [marcoace week 2015] [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marco is a model and Ace is a fashion designer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aurata

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 2 of MarcoAce week 2015! The prompt was tattoo!
> 
> Thank you to [lunarshores](http://lunarshores.tumblr.com/) for betaing, and I hope you all enjoy!

Flashing lights and thumping bass fill Marco’s senses as he steps out onto the runway. He tilts his jaw, strides forward with a cocky smirk, and makes sure to look into the cameras at the end before he turns. He slides backstage again, trading a small smile with a few colleagues, before he heads back to the dressing room.

“We have seven minutes,” Izō says, nodding to someone across the room as he drags Marco back to the make-up chair. “Sit, someone’s just getting your clothes.”

Marco does as told (he always does), and closes his eyes. He loves his job, he really does. It’s exhilarating and magical all in one, but it does tire him. He doesn’t usually do the live shows anymore, but this is a personal favour for a designer, and Marco couldn’t really say no.

He has no idea what the theme is, so Marco isn’t very surprised when a strange bundle is brought forwards and presented to Izō. He waves for help, and a small army begin dressing Marco. He trusts Izō, though, and follows directions, raising an eyebrow when they’ve finished dressing him. What he’s wearing is original, he can say that much, and bright blue and yellow fabric glimmer as Marco shifts. He is reminded of a bird as he watches Izō do his make up in the mirror, and resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he would, Marco thinks.

“Right, you’re done,” Izō snaps, though he smiles as Marco turns. It’s busy backstage, and Marco doesn’t blame Izō for getting stressed. He’s done a wonderful job, and the night is winding down – thankfully. Then there will be cleaning up and then the after party, though Marco has plans of his own.

As Marco steps onto the runway this time, he feels a gaze settle on him. It’s a heavy gaze, and the smile that springs to his lips is real. He doesn’t try to seek the person out – they probably don’t want to be found, after all, not yet anyway – and he tilts his chin, fabric swirling around him like the trail of a peacock as he turns. Marco lets his open jacket slip slightly off of one of his shoulders, and he knows his huge tattoo is exposed for the world to see. Marco imagines his onlooker’s breath hitching at the sight of him, and he turns away from the world, back behind closed doors, the show ending for now.

It won’t be enough, Marco knows, and he starts counting down from the moment he can hear the applause in the hall. Around him, models and staff begin congratulating each other and packing up, their day finally ending, and Marco heads to his locker to slip into something smarter.

Izō notices him as Marco heads out. He raises an eyebrow, glancing down at what Marco’s wearing.

“Nice suit,” he comments, and that’s an understatement. Marco grins.

“You won’t find another like it in the world,” he says, and Izō laughs. “From the best designer in the world too,” Marco adds, and Izō shakes his head.

“Tell him it’s been a fabulous night,” Izō says, and Marco nods. They’re all meeting tomorrow anyway, but he’ll do as instructed and pass on the words.

While it’s snobbish and Marco doesn’t usually do the snobbier side of his industry, he orders one of the most expensive drivers to taxi him home. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said his suit was a one of a kind, and Marco doesn’t want to damage it. This is the first time he’s worn it, and he has special plans for it, plans that don’t involve it getting dirty or him running late.

The house they pull up at is strangely mediocre considering the grandiose of the event Marco has just left. The chauffeur seems to agree with this and gives Marco a small, strange look when he asks for the car to stop. He doesn’t say anything, the mark of a good driver, and Marco tips him generously. He’ll have nothing to complain about, and it’s not like Marco needs to spend the money on a lavish lifestyle.

The door is locked, unsurprisingly. Marco knew he’d be the first home, and he enters the kitchen, hand reaching down to scratch behind the ears of a sleepy dog. He slowly follows Marco, but gives up, returning to his bed, and Marco smiles softly. Striker’s getting on a bit now, and while he’ll always have the heart of a puppy, his joints aren’t able to keep up anymore. Still, Marco thinks, it does mean there will be less dog hairs on his suit, and he quickly bends down to press a kiss to Striker’s head.

“There’s a good boy,” he says softly, and Striker half-closes his eyes. “I’ll cook you up a nice breakfast if you behave tonight,” Marco hums, returning to the kitchen to fetch some water, leaving Striker in favour of the bedroom.

It isn’t long before Marco hears the door, and he stands from the desk, smoothing the non-existent creases of his suit. He hasn’t wrinkled it, thankfully, and he runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the stiffness from the mountains of product Izō used tonight. Perhaps he should have had a shower, but Marco had been eager to get home.

“Hey buddy!” Marco can hear from downstairs, and he smiles to himself. There’s the noise of someone moving around the kitchen, then the stairs, and then the door opens, Marco smirking as Ace’s eyes widen.

“You wore it,” Ace says, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. Of course he wore it, Marco thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, instead raising an eyebrow at Ace’s outfit.

“I didn’t have time to change,” Ace says, looking away with a frown. He looks genuinely upset to be in a suit of his own (almost as nice as Marco’s). Ace only wears suits when he has a show and needs to blend in, otherwise he prefers scruffy t-shirts, usually Marco’s ancient ones that he swears he threw out ( if Ace wears a top at all), and shorts.

No one would think he’s a world-famous designer, and that’s how Ace likes it. His anonymity was tense when they first started their relationship – people had scorned Ace, saying that Marco could never settle for someone so distant from their world. Little did they know that the exclusive Phoenix contract Marco had landed was a contract that had been designed for only Marco. Ace had broken free of his former boss, erupting onto the scene with Marco as his premier model, and they’d never looked back.

“I hate suits,” Ace mutters, and Marco rolls his eyes, not bothering to correct him. Ace doesn’t hate suits. He hates wearing them, but he loves them otherwise.

“I felt you in the crowd,” Marco says, watching as Ace hastily undresses, leaving his suit in a crumpled heap. A large proportion of their industry would have a heart attack at seeing the suit in such a state, but Ace always made sure to wear the most durables fabrics he could. It would live to see another few years yet, Marco reckoned.

“Couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” Ace admits, throwing Marco a smile over his shoulder as he moves to the bottom of the bed. He’s naked, all muscle and energy. He looks like he belongs in a museum, a tribute to the gods, and Marco licks his lips slowly.

“The person next to me even warned me that the one I had my attention on was taken,” Ace says, sighing and stretching back a little, well aware that Marco’s gaze is fixed on him. “I had to pretend I was deeply miffed.”

Ace shoots him a grin, and Marco swallows thickly. There is a wild look in Ace’s eyes, and Marco manages a shaky breath in, sitting down on the bed slowly, gripping the covers with his fingers.

“Do you know how much I wanted to tell them what I’d be doing tonight?” Ace hisses, moving forwards to kneel on the bed. He shuffles, and usually they’d both laugh at the movement, but Marco is too caught up in the emotion in Ace’s eyes.

He isn’t quite sure how he manages it, but Marco replies.

“And what will you be doing tonight?” Marco says, and Ace’s grin is back, full of bravado and promise.

“Oh you know,” he says casually, shrugging his shoulders. The lamp throws shadows across his chest, and Marco wonders what he looks like right now. He feels composed on the outside, all dressed up sharply in cut lines and expensive fabrics, but on the inside he’s about to fall apart. His dick is hard, head swampy with lust, and he presses his lips together to staunch the flow of want. He can’t slip up just yet, they’ve hardly begun.

“I’m going to do what I want,” Ace says, and his bare knees press against Marco’s thigh. He’s unbelievably warm, the heat travelling through Marco and spiralling into his belly. He bites the inside of his lip, looking away from Ace’s muscular thighs, eyes sweeping quickly to Ace’s lips.

“I’m going to worship you in ways no one can ever come close to,” Ace promises, and his hand gently touches Marco’s suit, fingers resting on his mid-thigh. “They get to see you all the time, but they’ll never have you.”

Ace isn’t possessive anywhere else but the bedroom, and he knows it gets Marco hot and bothered. They trust each other not to have deep fits of jealousy or possessiveness, but Marco likes feeling his skin crawl with anticipation, knowing that he is just Ace’s. He likes having it spoken aloud before Ace reaches for him, likes the build-up of knowing that no one else can ever have him.

“You’re mine,” Ace says, voice low as his fingers slide slowly up Marco’s leg. Marco fights the urge to turn his entire body towards Ace, and he clenches his jaw as Ace skips his hips, pressing a hand to the middle of Marco’s chest, fingers playing with the fabric. His eyes stare at Marco’s chest, as if he can see through it, and Marco knows Ace wishes he could.

Ace has always been fascinated by Marco’s tattoo, always running his fingers over the inked skin and pressing light kisses to it. His own tattoos inspire no such emotion, and it’s one of the reasons why Marco refuses to go topless anymore. There are a few photoshoots lingering from before Marco met Ace, when he’d had no reason to keep himself covered, and he’d often been more than happy to show his tattoo proudly. Ace has never asked him to keep it hidden, knowing how much it means (of course he does, he has his own on his back), but Marco prefers it that way. It is for family, and if the gossip rags want to speculate he got rid of it and has been left with a scarred chest – hence why he never went topless anymore – then he really doesn’t care.

“Shift back a bit will you,” Ace says, voice slipping into something lighter and much more playful. His eyes twinkle, and Marco makes a show of protesting, huffing as he moves back, though he jerks a little as fabric rubs against his cock. Ace doesn’t even pretend he isn’t delighted, and Marco pokes him in the stomach.

“This is your problem too,” he says, and Ace shrugs, shifting off of the bed to stand before Marco. He slides between Marco’s legs, Marco’s knees resting against the outside of his thighs.

“I know,” Ace replies happily, and Marco feels himself shudder when Ace runs his thumb over Marco’s jaw. He leans in close, knee resting on the bed, and kisses Marco softly. It’s a gentle kiss, a comfortable one, and he pulls back quickly. They’re not here to play gentle and comfortable, not just yet anyway.

“You do look good,” Ace comments, straddling one of Marco’s thighs as he sits down on the bed. His cock is hard, and he rubs himself a little against the fabric, eyes half-closing in satisfaction. The cleaner will have their heads when they see the state Marco’s suit’s in, but it’s not the first time this has happened and most definitely won’t be the last.

“Of course I look good,” Marco says, and he reaches his hand out, letting Ace rut into his hand. He does so slowly, and Marco is captivated by the way his head tilts to the side, eyes still half closed and focused on Marco as he shifts his hips. One of his arms comes to rest on Marco’s shoulder, his other playing with the buttons on Marco’s chest, fingers slipping over them with each slight squeeze Marco gives. 

“You don’t know how good though,” Ace protests, and Marco can see the sweat on him already. The house has been empty most of the day, and it’s been a hot one. The air is still in the room, and Marco’s surprised he hasn’t started sweating yet. He grins, knowing that soon Ace’ll be working him harder, and the thought pools in Marco’s stomach, fizzing through his veins.

“Oh?” Marco says, tilting his head back. Ace has begun opening his buttons, still grinding on his thigh, but the movement is slower, and a hand comes down to push Marco’s fingers away.

Ace hums, still undoing Marco’s shirt, and they’re both glad the design didn’t call for a suit with a waistcoat or any fancy additions. Ace had probably had this in mind when he’d drawn up the suit, but Marco is indefinitely thankful for the simplicity of the suit. It means that, when Ace parts his hands, Marco’s shirt slides open, his bare chest exposed. Fine hairs prickle as they hit the slightly-cooler air of the room, and Marco shudders as Ace runs his fingers over the tattoo.

“I picture it, you know,” Ace murmurs, pushing Marco back gently until he’s flat on the bed. They move awkwardly for a moment, Ace placing his hands down noisily on the bed and bouncing a few times for good measure, before Marco is lying flat on his back, Ace between his legs. He hovers over, lips pressing to Marco’s sternum.

“Every time I design something I know you’ll be wearing, I always wonder what you’ll look like bare-chested.” Ace looks up, smiling, and Marco runs a hand through his hair, smoothing down Ace’s jaw. His hand falls to the side as Ace lowers himself, tongue darting against warm skin, and Marco knows he’s sweating now.

Ace’s fingers stroke across his ribs, under the suit, and Marco wiggles slightly, ignoring the open-mouthed kisses Ace is pressing against his chest, moving to his nipples.

His tongue sweeps gently over Marco’s left nipple, and his chest heaves with his inhale. Marco closes his eyes, arms moving out to the side, and he smiles soppily, skin tingling as Ace pads his fingers over the mark on Marco’s chest. It’s almost a ritual for them now, Ace reminding himself of Marco’s tattoo even if they don’t have sex, and there’s a blossoming familiarity spreading through Marco, heating him through. He feels more alive than he ever will in front of cameras and in fancy clothes. His hand reaches up to Ace’s shoulder, and he squeezes, Ace understanding immediately.

They kiss slowly, pressed tightly together. Ace’s hand braces him against the bed, and Marco gently runs his palms over Ace’s shoulders, delighting in the muscle and dips of his shoulders. He digs his fingers in, back arching, trying to rub himself against Ace’s cock. The move fails due to their position, but Ace pulls back with narrowed eyes, sitting back and moving one of his hands down between them.

“Ace,” Marco says, voice low. Ace flicks his eyes down, smiling slowly as he slides Marco’s zipper down. He unbuttons him too, smile widening to a grin when he realises Marco did as ordered and didn’t bother with underwear.

Ace slips him out, not bothering to take Marco’s trousers off. It’s been awhile since they’ve done this, and Marco half wants to rip the clothing away to feel Ace and half loves it. He loves that he is wrapped in something Ace made specifically for him, loves that he’s the only one who will ever wear it, and loves being an extension of Ace’s work. He twitches as Ace moves his hand up and down the length of his cock, humming to himself in thought.

“Where did we put the lube?” he asks, and Marco sits up a little, grabbing two pillows to prop himself up. He wants to watch Ace, wants to see him come undone.

“I have no idea,” Marco says, though the last part of his sentence trails off into a moan as Ace jerks his hand a little quicker, still looking around the room with narrowed eyes.

“I swear we put it back in the drawer,” Ace says, shrugging as he shuffles back a bit. His hand is still warm and firm against Marco, but he’s slowed his pace, and Marco grunts, trying not to move his hips.

“Bathroom maybe?” Marco ventures, though he’s not really sure why it would be in there. They’ve never seen fit to venture back into the bathroom after one particularly disastrous attempt at shower sex. It had ended in a huge bruise on Marco’s forehead and Ace needing a bag of frozen peas sitting on his crotch for a while.

“Hmm,” Ace comments, slipping away to the en-suite. His loss is sharp to Marco, and he heaves a sigh, ignoring the throbbing in his groin as he fights not to wank himself off. He’s about to lose his will when Ace returns, triumphant.

“Now then,” he says, and he looks ridiculously smug. Which isn’t fair, Marco things, but he has no time to protest as Ace’s hand is back on his cock, gently stroking.

“Do you want to hear what I’m going to do, or would you prefer a surprise?” Marco doesn’t bother to reply, instead lets his head rest back, closing his eyes. He groans, shifting his hips, and his eyes open when he feels a tongue sweep over his balls.

He gently teases Marco, kissing his thighs and balls, pressing his perineum gently, but never pressing against his cock. Marco is almost ready to start begging, and Ace knows it judging by the gleam in his eyes. When Ace finally does take Marco’s cock in his mouth, he gently tongues the underside, sending spikes of pleasure throughout Marco.

“It’s a good thing you never got your dick tattooed,” Ace says suddenly, pulling back. Precome trails down his chin, and Marco watches him reach for the lube, offering his hand out.

“Why would I ever get my dick tattooed,” Marco snorts, letting Ace pour lube over his fingers. It drips own, cool and silky, and Ace shifts forward until he’s sitting above Marco’s belly. Gently, Marco slides his hand around Ace’s thighs, pulling him closer, and teases his entrance with a finger.

“Well if you did ever get it tattooed,” Ace says, breathing in sharply as Marco enters him, fingers gently probing. Ace tilts his head forward, sweaty hair covering his forehead. Marco pushes it back with his free hand, stroking Ace’s cheek before he moves to kiss Ace.

It’s gentle, soft, and Marco slides another finger into Ace, delighting in the way he moans into the kiss. He rocks his hips, Marco’s hand having dropped down between them to jerk him off lazily, building up their kiss as he enters another finger, thumb smoothing over the head of Ace’s cock at the same time.

“Ah,” Ace says, breaking the kiss as his body jerks. Marco smiles wide, pulling Ace closer as he shifts back on Marco’s fingers, slowly fucking himself on them. “Marco,” he says, hands moving to grip the sheets, and that’s the cue to stop. Ace can’t come yet, and Marco knows (despite the protests) he loves being pushed to the edge and left.

“You fucker,” Ace curses, shifting his hips to try and rub his cock against Marco’s tattoo. He doesn’t build enough momentum up though, but it gives Marco time to lube his cock up. They don’t bother with condoms, haven’t for a while, though they make sure to get tested regularly, just in case. They trust each other, and they prefer the intimacy of bare backing.

“What were you saying about tattooing my dick?” Marco says with a smile, and he strokes his cock, knowing Ace is aware he’s ready. Ace raises an eyebrow, breathing slowly, and then he’s taking Marco’s cock in his own hand and settling himself down, sliding down the length slowly. He grunts, tensing for a moment, and then sighs, rolling his hips to adjust as he sinks fully down.

“I was saying,” he announces, and shifts up, putting weight onto his knees then sinking down again. Marco lets out a deep noise from the back of his throat, not caring at all what Ace had been saying.

“If you had a tattoo on your dick, I’d probably never stop sucking it,” he says simply, and Marco looks at him. Ace isn’t grinning, there’s a flush on his cheeks and he’s biting his lip instead, one hand stroking himself as he pushes up and down. It’s too slow though, and while Marco is more than happy for Ace to continue riding him like this, he also wants more.

Pleasure spikes and rolls through him as Ace lifts up. As he shifts his weight, Marco brings his legs up in a better position. He keeps Ace steady and moves into him, slowly at first. Ace’s eyes widen at the angle and a moan slips from his lips unbidden. His eyes close, and Marco picks up the pace, tilting his head back as he feels desire pool in his stomach, every thought of Ace and how amazing they are.

Pitching forward, Ace comes first. He ducks his head against Marco’s shoulder, hands clutching Marco’s biceps, and he lets out a shaky break. He rolls his hips, teeth grazing again Marco’s skin, and he shudders, stomach clenching as he comes.

“Ace,” Marco whispers, and Ace turns towards him, soft smile on his face. Marco slips out of him as Ace moves to kiss him, and they both share a grimace at the sensation. “I wouldn’t get my dick tattooed even if you’d suck it all the time.”

They laugh and Ace presses a gentle kiss to Marco’s lips before moving up and shuffling to the bathroom, muttering how much he hated the feeling of come in his arse, as he did every time Marco came inside of him. Marco had pointed out many times that, if he hated it so much, they could go back to condoms or he could pull out, but Ace had shook his head, leading Marco to suspect that he does actually like the feeling.

He decides to strip, dumping the sweat-soaked suit on the floor. He then opens the window and sighs at the cool breeze that hits him. Marco stands there, watching the world outside of their little home, leaning against Ace as he comes back and wraps his arms around Marco’s waist.

“Thatch said he’d call in the morning to tell us what to bring over for dinner,” he says, kissing Marco’s shoulder gently. His hands wander upwards, fingers settling over Marco’s tattoo. Marco turns slowly, sliding his arms over Ace’s shoulders and linking his hands.

“Which means we’re going to end up inviting them here, after Thatch burns whatever creation he’s been dying to try out for months,” Marco’s lips curl, and Ace rolls his eyes.

“He always gets dramatic,” Ace replies, and he pulls Marco close, resting his head against his shoulder.

They remain standing for a little while, then Marco shuffles them towards the bed, and Ace flops back, stretching out with a yawn.

“I’ll be ready to go again after a nap,” he says cheekily, though they both know that once Ace is out, he’s out like a light. Marco indulges him, however.

“Yes, dear,” he says slowly, sliding into bed and budging Ace over with his hip. “Of course, dear,” he add for good measure, and earns himself a jab in the ribs.

“Be quiet,” Ace mutters joyfully. “Darling,” he adds, drawing out the ‘a’ and rolling his ‘r’. It shouldn’t be seductive, but it is, and Marco pulls the pillow from under his head, throwing it at Ace.

“I’m old,” he says. “Let me rest a bit more.”

Ace doesn’t protest, but he does hoard the pillow, though it’s uncomfortable to stack them all. Still, Ace is persistent, and when Marco shuffles closer, he hides his discomfort.

“Sweet dreams, love you,” Marco mumbles, shifting until Ace’s shoulder is his pillow. Ace kisses the top of his head, fingers tucking against Marco’s chest.

“Love you too,” Ace replies, and Marco can feel the pull of sleep already. He allows it to take him, safe in the thought that Ace will be right by his side when he wakes.


End file.
